Zombie Attack! Rise of the Horde (7 page)

Without thinking, I stood up and stared at the truck.

“What are you doing?” Joel demanded. “Get back down, you
moron!”

Joel grabbed at my jeans, trying to yank me back down, but I
pulled away from him and walked out into the middle of the road. The truck was
barreling down on me. At first, I wasn't sure it was going to stop.

Great
, I thought as the front bumper of the truck
drew closer to my kneecaps.
I've survived the end of the world only to die
of a car accident.

“What the hell!” I heard a man's voice yell. The tires
squealed as the truck came to a screeching halt less than ten feet from me.
White smoke rose up from the tires and the smell of burning rubber filled the
air. The two men in back had their faces covered. They were standing in the bed
of the truck and pointed their weapons at me.

“Don't shoot!” I hollered. “We just need a ride.”

The driver of the truck opened the door and stepped out.

“John?” One of the shooters cautioned him.

“It's all right,” John said. “Just keep him covered for
now.”

He turned his attention to me.

“Where did you come from?”

“Military base up north,” I said, keeping my hands up. “We
were overrun by a zombie horde.”

“There is no such thing as a zombie horde,” John replied
matter-of-factly. “Zoms can't barely think for themselves. They're driven by
hunger, like mindless insects. They are drawn to the living by sight and smell.
Period
. They don't communicate with other zombies and they don't work
together.”

“That's what we thought too,” I said, trying not to tremble.
I couldn't tell if it was the cold or the fear getting to me. “Until they
knocked down the walls at Vandenberg and killed everyone we knew.”

“Vandenberg's been taken out? Jesus.”

“They were definitely working together,” I added, feeling a
little more confident. “Like they had some kind of hive mind.”

“How'd you get down this way?” John asked, ignoring my
suggestion.

“We walked,” I replied.

“There are more of you?” John looked around nervously for an
ambush. His guards did the same. “Come on out. Show yourselves.”

Slowly Benji, Tom, and Joel stood up.

“Get your hands up where we can see them!” The guards swung
around and trained their guns on the group in the bushes. Joel gave me an angry
look.

“They're just little kids,” one of the men shouted to the
leader who acted like he didn't hear him.

“Is that all of you?” John shouted.

“Yes it is,” I said, shooting a threatening look to the rest
of the group to keep their mouths shut about Sam.

“Get on out here,” John ordered. Cautiously the group walked
over and joined me in front of the truck's headlights.

“Now,” John said, seeming calmer, “where are you headed?”

“Lompoc,” I said. “Then farther down south toward the
coast.”

John laughed and shook his head.

“It's a good thing we found you,” he said. “You'd never make
it into the city without an armed escort.”

“What do you mean?” Joel asked.

“Lompoc is a war zone now,” John said, spitting on the ground.

“You mean zombies?” Benji asked sheepishly.

“Yeah,” John said, “sure. We still got those. Plus there is
the damn
Unity Gang
to worry about now.”

“What is the Unity Gang?” Tom asked innocently.

“Hell on earth, son,” John said causally. “It's a collection
of bikers and rival gangs that got together after Z-Day to wreak havoc on the
last of the living.”

“You mean like a pack of outlaws?” Joel asked.

“Exactly,” John responded. “Like a mega gang. They got a
little bit of everything. Crips. Bloods. Latin Thugs. Hell's Angels. You name
it. If the damned zombies don't get you, the Unity Gang will. All they live for
is to rape, kill, and pillage. They do murder just for sport. That's why we
can't never be too careful.”

“That sounds terrible,” Benji said with a visible shudder.

“You got that right,” John agreed. “A lot of good citizens
just barricaded themselves in after the zombies started eating people. Not the
Unity Gang. They preyed on the weak, using the natural goodness of people and
their basic human decency against them, tricking them into opening up their
doors so they could bring helter skelter down on 'em.”

This is the last thing we need,
I thought.
More
complications.
I wondered if we would be able to talk John into giving us a
car with some gas and getting us on our way.

“Most folks were too scared to do anything about it. They
sat back and watched as these animals took advantage of their neighbors,
praying it wouldn't be them next. It's enough to make a good man sick to his
stomach.”

“So you armed yourselves and took a stand against them?”
Joel asked. John smiled at him. He obviously liked the way Joel thought.

“You bet we did,” John said. “We took back a bunch of
neighborhoods from the dead and the damned, making a safe zone. We got food,
water, electricity, indoor plumbing. It's almost like it used to be. We make
sweeps outside the city looking for survivors and supplies when we're not on
duty.”

“You got clean beds?” Joel asked, sounding more and more
comfortable with the situation despite the fact we still had guns trained on
us. “We're exhausted and could use a good night's sleep.”

“Sure,” John shrugged. “We'll be glad to give you a ride and
get you all set up, just as soon as you strip down and let us examine you for
bite marks.”

I swallowed hard thinking about Sam. Right then and there I
knew I'd done the right thing. Benji gave me a look that said he understood why
I'd marched out into the middle of the road.

“Is that a problem, gentlemen?” John asked, noticing Benji
and me.

“Not at all,” Joel crowed, stripping down to his underwear
like it was a hot summer day and he was about to plunge into a cool lake. He
nodded to Tom who followed his lead. Benji and I did the same. John signaled
for one of the guys in the back of the truck. He came over with a flashlight
held in his teeth so he could hold onto his weapon. It reminded me of something
from the show
Cops
. He gave us a good onceover, then nodded to John.

“Well then,” John said. “Looks like this lot is cleared for
takeoff. Hop in the back and keep your heads down. Today's forecast calls for
lead showers and a hail of bullets.”

We dressed quickly and did as we were told. John got back in
and turned the truck around, driving us back toward the city again. Deep down
inside, I knew none of it mattered. Sam was dead no matter what I did. Giving
him his last few human moments without added fear of being cut in half by an
automatic weapon wasn't going to change his fate. Still a small part of me felt
better, like I had done something good and made a difference—even though
I hadn't, not really. I don't know if it was the sound of the wind rushing by
drowning out everything but the hum of the engine, or just the fact that I was
exhausted—but against all odds I slipped down in the bed of the truck and
fell asleep.

I was in the darkness, surrounded by hissing demons. I could
smell them, but not see them. I could feel the dread they inspired, an
irrational fear that climbed up inside of me and grew like a weed until it
overwhelmed me. I was afraid to move, afraid I'd give them a direction to lunge
toward. But I was also afraid
not
to move, knowing that if I didn't do
something to get away they would eventually find me. Zombies don't sleep. They
don't get tired. They just keep coming until they get you. You cannot reason
with them. You can't plead with them. All you can do is run. My legs felt like
they were made out of lead. I could feel the sweat trickling down my back. I
could hear my own shallow breathing but it sounded like it was coming from
somewhere else outside of me.

Something slithered through the darkness like a snake, only
bigger and heavier. Every muscle in my body tensed up as I prepared for an
attack of some kind. I felt a hand wrap itself around my right ankle, like an
iron shackle, cold and hard. Electricity shot through me as a wave of panic
crashed over me. Another hand wrapped around my calf, cold and unyielding,
while the sounds of a large creature dragging itself toward me intensified. The
scraping across the ground sounded like mountains of sandpaper scratching
inside my mind. Searing pain shot through me and I screamed out as the zombie
bit deep into the back of my leg. It was a crawler. I looked down to see tiny
little zombie Sam staring up at me, blood pouring out of his mouth from the
wound he'd just left in my leg. He was still in one piece but his legs didn't
seem to be working. He hissed at me with dead eyes like a large snake.

Looking up, I saw zombies coming out of the dark mist on all
sides of me. I was surrounded completely. There was no way out! I looked back
down just in time to see Sam biting back into my leg. I screamed as loud as I
could, filling my lungs with air several times in a row and yelling some more
until I was hoarse. This was it for me. I was a goner now. They were going to
tear me to shreds and there was nothing I could do about it!

I shot up panting and sweating. I was in a soft bed under
the covers. There was a poster of Felicity James, the child celebrity turned
reality star, staring down at me from above the bed. Before Z-Day I used to
think about her all the time, but having the dead reanimate and try to kill you
tends to change your priorities.

Where am I?

For a minute I couldn't remember how I'd gotten there. I
pulled back the covers to examine my leg. It was fine. I noticed a scratchy tag
had been scraping me in the same place I’d been bitten in my nightmare.

Am I dead?
I thought.
Or better yet, maybe all
this zombie stuff was just a bad dream. But this isn't my room. Where am I?

I got up and looked out the window, surprised for a moment
to realize I was dressed in pajamas. Pieces of the previous night were coming
back to me: the walk, the guns, and getting in the back of the truck. I pulled
the shades to reveal a suburban neighborhood. Bright sun beamed down on rows of
identical homes with well-manicured lawns. Armed guards in khaki uniforms
roamed the streets. They were the only indication that anything was off from
the way things used to be before Z-Day.

Where's my sword?
Panic shot through me. I didn't
like being unarmed. One thing I'd learned since the end of the world was that
it was better to have a weapon and not need one than need one and not have it.
Moto said that's an old cliché, but to be honest I don't recall ever hearing it
before things went bad. Maybe it's just universal wisdom. Who's to say what's
old and what's new now that the world as we know it is over?

I scoured the room for my katana but came up short in my
search. I did find my clothes at the foot of the bed. Someone had washed them,
folded them, then set them in a neat pile for me. They were still warm to the
touch. They smelled like fabric softener.

Maybe it was the same person who changed you into pajamas
while you were sleeping
, I thought. At least they hadn't changed my
underwear. It was unnerving to think I had been so exhausted that I slept right
through it. I didn't like being at the mercy of other people, much less being
completely helpless in front of total strangers.

You need to pull it together. Remember your training.

Cautiously, I cracked open the door and looked out. I could
hear people walking around downstairs, glasses clinking, women laughing. Then
it hit me full in the face—the smell of someone cooking breakfast. It was
like a dream come true. I opened the door and walked out: down the steps, past
the living room and into the kitchen. A large, older woman in an apron was
cooking scrambled eggs in a cast iron skillet. On the table were orange juice,
milk, a pile of buttered toast, and a plate overflowing with bacon. I could
feel myself salivating and my stomach gave a loud rumble in response. The woman
turned to me and smiled.

“Good morning, sleepy head,” she said in a chipper tone.
“Glad to see you’re up.”

“Where am I?”

“You're in the safe zone in New Lompoc,” she said. “You were
out cold when the men got back last night. At first I was afraid of waking you
up. By the time I got you changed and into bed I realized that wasn't going to
be a problem.”

So she was the one who put me in these pajamas
, I
thought. I was grateful it hadn't been one of the guys from the truck. There
was a motherly quality about this woman that seemed to make it less
embarrassing.

“I'd ask you how you slept but I already know,” she
continued. “Whole house could hear you snoring up until about twenty minutes
ago.”

God I hope I wasn't screaming in my sleep
, I thought.
I didn't know why but I wanted this woman to like me. She had a kindness that
hung over her, like grace. She wiped her hands on her apron as she took the
eggs off the stove.

“My name is Carol.”

“I'm Xander,” I said. She stuck out her hand and I shook it.

“Nice to meet you, Xander” she said.

“How many people live here?” I asked.

“Usually not more than the three of us,” she said, nodding
her head toward the door where the two other women who had congregated to
eavesdrop on us quickly scattered. One of them was around my age and cute as
hell. She had soft brown eyes like melted caramel and long auburn hair tied
back in a ponytail. She had lingered just long enough to make eye contact with
me before vanishing into the house. “But on special occasions when we rescue a
group of kids off the highway the number goes up a little bit.”

I stood there staring at the food.

“You hungry?”